


you're the shape of all my days

by purelyhxrry



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Comfort, Discovery, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 11:23:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purelyhxrry/pseuds/purelyhxrry
Summary: Without Dmitry, she could never have known who she truly was. Yes, he helped her unearth the fact that she was, indeed, the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia.  But that wasn’t who she truly was. And that was, she supposed, why Dmitry hadn’t taken the reward. For they had both set out on this journey with the intent of discovering Anastasia, and they had. But along the way, they had discovered each other. And that was the greatest reward of them all.





	you're the shape of all my days

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a "I love Dmitry & Anya so much and want more resolution" and turned into "let's discuss why Dmitry REALLY didn't take the reward" and ended as "fluff and angst and love and vance joy" so here we are.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from Vance Joy's "Alone With Me".

The evening was bright and beautiful; a stillness settling over the Paris skyline when her and her grandmother were in that stateroom together - Anya in that red dress, sparkling like a thousand sunsets, feeling like a tulip ready to blossom. It had been a whirlwind of activity, people filing in and out all morning. They’d just said goodbye to Count Leopold and Lily - finally - a moment’s quiet.

And then, the question strung through the air from her grandmother like bunting flapping merrily in a July breeze. “Where’s your young man?”

It surprises Anya, in the moment: not the question, but the immediate response her soul gives to the words. Her mind jumps immediately to Dmitry with no hesitation; her heart seems to know exactly who her grandmother is speaking of, before Anya even realizes it herself. That scares her. She draws herself up, inhaling quickly. “He’s not my young man,” she retorts, but even she can hear the hollowness of her words; the emptiness, like a canyon reverberating distant shouts down it’s dusty walls.

Her grandmother seems to see straight through the facade. “Is it not plain to you that he loves you?” she prods.

Anya draws away, repeating firmly, “He’s not my young man.” This time, she convinces herself a bit more. Of course he wasn’t her young man. How could he be? Dmitry had only been there for her for the money, nothing more. They were destined to be apart, just as they were now. 

“When he refused my reward for finding you, I knew that my Anastasia had found herself a noble prince - one of good character, not wealth.” Her grandmother clutched her hands together with her eyes looking expectantly to the ceiling, as if like a prayer, a holy moment of reverence.

Yet, her words hold Anya suspended in time, stealing the breath from her lungs. Could it be? She didn’t dare believe what she was hearing could be true. “D-Dmitry… refused the reward?” She reiterated, eyes furrowing in disbelief.

“You are Anastasia,” her grandmother declared proudly. “He said that was all the reward he ever needed.” Turning to leave, her grandmother gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and a kiss.

Anya stood in stunned silence as she watched her grandmother leave the room, leaving a trail of questions behind her. Anya couldn’t help but shake her head and smile. Her grandmother knew exactly what she was doing in asking a question like that and then leaving. Pressing a hand to her forehead, Anya mulled over the words in her head like a paddle skimming through peaceful waters as a canoe drifts down the riverside.  
Perhaps it was not the fact that Dmitry refused the reward that shocked Anya so much. She realized with a start, that the more she considered it, the more it seemed natural to her. It’s not surprising, doesn’t seem out of character. She frowned. But how could that be? Hadn’t Dmitry been concerned about the money from the very beginning?

Slowly, like a child remembering how to ride a bicycle after the long winter, Anya’s head catches up with her heart. Memories come tiptoeing into her mind, one right after the other. Dmitry teaching her how to dance, fireflies flickering around them like whispers of a dream soon coming true. Or, their adventure through Petersburg: catching a glimpse of the luminescent wonder and adoration Dmitry held in his heart for his city; the way he held her hand in helping her up onto the roof of the factory, the breathless, enraptured way he stared out at the bright skyline, the light in his eyes that she had never seen before- shining brighter than the sun that was setting. Why would he have shown her the music box if all he wanted was the money? Why would she have trusted him enough to give him the diamond if she could sense his rush to receive the reward?

And what about that night, seeming so long ago in Anya’s memory now, of the nightmare? How dark the dream had seemed, closing in on her like a tunnel collapsing on itself. Dmitry had come to her then, without hesitation, comforted her and given her just enough hope and belief that she discovered who she truly was. The thought hit her like a train - without Dmitry, how could she have known who she truly was? 

Footsteps echoed behind her. Turning, she saw him. He hadn’t seen her yet - too busy scanning the chairs that lined the room for Vlad’s suitcase, left here earlier when he was distracted by Lily. It was then that all the thoughts that had swirled about Anya’s head about Dmitry finally collided and connected into one brilliant truth. 

“When did you know that I was Anastasia?” she said, breaking the silence in the room. Dmitry, startled, turned towards her - a lock of hair falling down on his forehead. He blinks. Exhales.

“That night,” he starts, huskily, then clears his throat. “That night, in your bedroom, after your nightmare.”

She holds his gaze, determined. “That was the first time I knew, too.”

“I know.”

She scoffs a little. “You didn’t think, for one second before, that I was truly her?”

Dmitry, defensive, shoves his hands in his pocket. “Not at all.”

Anger starts to bubble within her. Had he been lying this whole time? “So you were just pulling a scam? Trying to make me feel good about the lie we thought we were telling?”

He shrugs. “Well, sure, for a little bit, but then-”

“Then, what?” She’s shouting now, pacing towards him with loud steps. “Then you realized that we really were telling the truth? That I really was Anastasia? And what, that’s too much for you - to collect revenue on a lie that turned into reality? Because I don’t-”

“But then,” Dmitry cuts her off, matching her volume with his booming voice, marching towards her. “I realized who you were and realized I couldn’t keep living the lie that we had been! Forget Anastasia, forget the reward, we fell in love with each other, god damn it Anya.” His voice is shaky now; a trembling hand runs through his hair. Tears are in his eyes. Anya inhales sharply. “Don’t tell me that’s not true. Because it is. It is.” Searching, his eyes flicker over her face, and when she doesn’t respond, he keeps talking to fill the silence. “I fell in love with you on that train ride into Paris, when you fell asleep on my shoulder and the wind started playing with your hair. And I didn’t fall in love with Anastasia. I fell in love with you, Anya, the girl who can’t eat soup neatly to save her life, who can fight off street urchins better than I can, who is kind, and soft, and smells like pumpkins.” Embarrassed, Dmitry takes a step back, looking around the opulent room they stand in and sighing. “But the Dmitry who fell in love with Anya doesn’t belong with Anastasia.” He looks at her, almost pleading for her to say something. When she doesn’t, he turns to collect Vlad’s suitcase.

Anya is dumbfounded, mind reeling from everything he just said. She wants to say something, but cannot find the words. Then, like an angel came to whisper them in her ear, her grandmother’s words echo in her mind.

_You are Anastasia. He said that was all the reward he ever needed._

Dmitry hadn’t believed in her from the start. Him and Vlad were, after all, simply trying to earn their reward and move on with their lives. They were pulling a con and Anya seemed to simply fit their criteria. But now, Anya understands. It dawns on her, like the slow and sleepy way the sun rises in April - yawning and stretching as it paints the world alive. 

Dmitry hadn’t realized she was Anastasia until that night in her bedroom when she realized it, too. And yet, he had fallen in love with her - Anya. And despite what everyone said now, the buzz of the press, the newspaper headlines, the distant family members who bowed and said, “Welcome home,” that was not who Anya was. Yes, she was Anastasia, and she had finally come home. But who she truly was was the person she was when she was with Dmitry; the one who couldn’t eat soup to save her life, who fights off street urchins, who dreamed big and believed she’d find her family and who did. 

But it was all thanks to Dmitry. Without Dmitry, she could never have known who she truly was. Yes, he helped her discover her past, remember her family, and find her grandmother. Yes, he helped her unearth the fact that she was, indeed, the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia. Yes, without him, she would not be here. But that wasn’t who she truly was. And that was, she supposed, why Dmitry hadn’t taken the reward. For they had both set out on this journey with the intent of discovering Anastasia, and they had. But along the way, they had discovered each other. And that was the greatest reward of them all.

He was almost out the door now, shoulders slumped. Defeated. Anya rushes towards him. “Wait!” she cried, heels clicking like the seconds of a clock as she makes her way towards him.

He turned, locking his gaze with hers. There were tears in his deep green eyes, a hollow sort of feeling that pierced Anya to the core. She rushed to him, grabbing his hands and shaking her head, throat closing with emotion. “I fell in love with you, too,” she managed. “That time you showed me around Petersburg. When we were on top of that factory, you held my hand to help me up onto the boxes - I’ve never seen anyone shine so brightly as you did in that moment, all of a sudden-” Her words were cut short with a sob that ripped through her chest, she looked up at him, tears streaming down his face. “And I’m still in love with you,” she continues. “Not as Grand Duchess Anastasia, not as the result of a scam that turned into the truth. I’m still in love with you as Anya, the poor beggar from Russia who came wandering in to your palace one day and never left you alone.” She laughed then, and Dmitry did too. She realized he was crying too, with her, and she reached up to wipe some of his tears away. “I was shocked when my grandmother told me you didn’t receive the reward, but the more I thought about it, the less surprised I was. Because, when I’m with you, that’s who I truly am - I’m Anya, I’m Anastasia, I’m the one who can’t eat soup to save my life - because you are the only person who has been by me start to finish, beginning to end, and loved me when I was both.” She squeezed his fingers, smiling brilliantly. “You see me for who I truly am, Dmitry. And I love you for it.”

He exhaled then, shakily, smiling brightly down at her but with a twinge of sadness in his eyes. “But how do we go from here?” He asked softly - so softly that it feels a little like a lullaby. His fingers cupped her face, and she leaned into his warmth.

“We’ll figure it out,” she promised. “We always do.” He looked unsure, and the expression on his face reminded her of how she felt, on that night so long ago, when she told Vlad and Dmitry her faint memories in that strange, unfamiliar place where they first met. “Hey, look at me,” she whispered, and caught his pained eyes with hers. “I love you,” she repeated, and watched with awe as the words wash over him and transformed his expression from pain into peace. “And whatever happens, we have each other. I know who you are, and I love you for it.”

He nodded, tracing a finger from her cheek to her ear. “And I know who you are, and I love you for it.”

They smile, and Dmitry’s gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips, as if asking for permission. Slowly, he bends down and she tilted her chin up, and then their lips meet in a beautiful explosion of love, of discovery, of promise, of passion. Anya has never felt so understood in her entire life. They had found each other at long last, and that was all the reward that they needed.


End file.
